Spiralling
by The Darkness Factor
Summary: "Almost everyone," he corrects her. "Never met Abraham Lincoln. That seems like an obvious one, doesn't it? But I guess it just... slipped my mind. I'm getting old, it was bound to happen eventually." 11/Tasha


Even atop the tower, he can hear the TARDIS as it dematerializes as clearly as if he were standing right next to it. He smiles because this is his only gift to himself this Christmas: the knowledge that she will be safe, that he will not have to lower her corpse into the ground and watch it be covered. The trade-off is her fury, and possibly her hatred, but that's fair payment in exchange for the knowledge that she is safe.

It's funny. He never thought that staying put would be the one thing that endangered her, yet here he was.

"We will do our best to keep those that wish you harm out of the town." He turns his attention back to Tasha. There's a knowing look in her eye, like she too has heard the TARDIS' departure and thus knows what it entails. "But you're going to have to work with us on this one, Doctor. Even if you don't necessarily want to. It's going to be difficult enough for us to help you as it is. Kovarian's already protesting it."

He snorts. "Bit late for that one," he mutters. When she raises an eyebrow, he raises his voice. "Alright, but I'm going to need supplies. Always have to have a good amount of supplies when you're holed up in a little town called Christmas. Never know when you need marshmallows. Or Jammy Dodgers. Or a fez, for that matter."

"Oh, for god's sake," says Tasha, sighing. "As if the bow tie didn't make you look ridiculous enough."

"What about a Stetson?"

She stares.

"Top hat? The wife loved that one."

"You'd probably need a tuxedo to go with it."

"Oh, that's easy," he scoffs, gesturing carelessly. "I've got one in the…"

His voice dies off as he remembers. It suddenly hits him: he doesn't have the TARDIS. And until it comes back, he's going to have to stay here. This place needs him, and until it no longer does, he's keeping his own two feet planted firmly on the ground. He feels frightened at the thought; he'll go mad (well, madder than he already is), he knows he will. Tasha's gaze is unreadable as she looks at him, but he thinks that he detects pity there.

"I have duties to return to," she says eventually. "Remember: we help you detect them, you help us keep them out. Contact me when you require additional supplies."

Her visage fades out abruptly.

The Doctor bows his head, smiling at the ground under his feet. "I s'pose I'd better get started then."

* * *

He has to sneak out.

He feels rather like a schoolboy who's going out on the grounds at nighttime (not that that would make much difference here, considering it's always nighttime) and who can't get caught. The stakes are considerably higher than detention, but he feels pretty confident. He's always been good at sneaking out of places, especially when he has help. He feels a pang at this thought, because he knows someone else who's very good at sneaking out. Knew. Knows.

"How are they?" she asks, when he steps out of her teleport. He looks at Tasha in surprise, because a part of him expected her to ask him for a status report. Her organization may be churchly, but above all else it is rather militaristic, in spite of her good intentions. But then, she knew him once. Maybe she still does.

"Fine," he answers. "Doing quite well, in fact. No one's died."

They both ignore the _yet_ that hangs in the air. He ages very slowly, she doesn't age at all. Unfortunately, neither do many of their enemies, and their enemies are numerous. But the townspeople— the old, the young, men and women— they all age. The children will eventually be children no more, and the adults will wither away to nothing. He can protect them from fire, but he can't protect them from time.

"Interesting, dealing with the truth field," he adds. "I've lost count of the number of times I've said, 'I'm wearing a wig.' Mind you, I stopped wearing one a while ago, once it started growing back. Boredom let me shave my head in a few seconds, why couldn't it make my hair grow back in a few seconds?"

Tasha's mouth twitches into a smile. "Nothing is quite so dangerous to you as boredom, is it?"

"Oh, yeah? And what was that I once heard about the Mother Superious mandating that not even holographic projectors were allowed once, hmm? I suppose you deemed it necessary based on the sacred scriptures."

She doesn't even blush. "A psychotic space nun has to find some way to occupy her time."

He grins at her, throwing himself into one of the chairs that she has at the end of the table; he has her now, if the uneasy flicker in her eyes is anything to go by. "And I suppose blatant ogling was another part of the sacred scriptures, was it?"

"You're a lot less shy now, aren't you?" Tasha still looks unimpressed. He silently curses her ability to maintain her composure. It's always been commendable.

"I learned from the best." There's another pang, but he doesn't mention any names. Tasha is studying him carefully. It's best that he doesn't give anything away. She is, after all, the head of the Silence and could easily have something to do with the mess that happened ages ago.

She sighs. "So you were there, were you? Didn't even stop to say hello?"

"I was busy," he protests. "Found some Zygons trying to infiltrate the mainframe, had to get rid of them somehow. Of course, 'somehow' involved a paper clip from the 34th century malfunctioning and going on a rampage that may or may not have mutated one of your priestesses into… well, I'm not going to go there."

"Zalfana resigned her post and submitted to Silence memory-proofing. She is happily married and has two children. The children are learning to fit in, gradually."

"At least you didn't behead her."

Tasha looks genuinely bewildered. "Why would I do that?"

He shakes his head, resisting the strange urge to giggle. He remembers the Tasha Lem from long, long ago. Not so different from the one who is currently seating herself across from him, but less restrained than she is now. She's learned a lot from being in power, he knows. There've been assassination attempts, attacks, protests, revolts, and she's survived it all through sheer persistence. The fact that she hasn't given up after all this time shows that she has more faith in the goodness of people than she lets on.

He drags the chest that she's left out towards him, checking inside. He hasn't asked for marshmallows (yet), but there are other things— some tools that the townspeople need, a book that he requested, and a packet of jammy dodgers. He beams at her after inspecting the contents, receiving a small smile in return.

"Thanks," he says, standing. "Not sure I want to know how you came by half this stuff. Jammy Dodgers are supposed to be outlawed in nearly seven galaxies in this time period."

"When did that ever stop you?" she asks, eyes twinkling, also rising from her chair. "Sure you don't want to stay any longer? I'm pretty sure I keep a game of Clue hidden around here somewhere."

"Naughty psycho space nun," he says, wagging a finger at her. "You're not allowed to have board games. Nah, I'd best be off. Promised the kids I'd fix up a few of their toys. If they're going to be stuck living in Christmas for the rest of their lives, they're going to need something exciting to play with. Like a toy truck. Ooh! Or a toy truck that chases you around automatically, that would be golden."

"Well, try not to be too bored," Tasha orders him as she sets up the teleport. "We don't want you blowing up Christmas."

The Doctor snorts. Blowing up Christmas? Well, maybe not the town, but Rassilon knows he's done that to the holiday enough.

* * *

He leaves right away the next time, too. And the next. And the time after that. It's nice to chat with an old friend, but he knows that if he stays too long, things will get a bit awkward between them. Tasha Lem may have known him long ago, but she knows next to nothing about his eleventh self. His mannerisms, his habits— they surprise her, all little flourishes that she's unfamiliar with. She seems to enjoy his company, though, and she always asks if he'd like to stay a little longer.

If he didn't pretend to know better, he'd say she's lonely.

It shouldn't surprise him. Those who sit atop everyone else are also cut off from everyone else. She performs daily rituals in the company of hundreds, and he knows for a fact that a few of the lesser nuns are her friends, but overall no one makes the effort to really bond with her. She is a frightening presence— intimidating, sometimes even barely human. Her charisma inspires, her dedication threatens.

Tasha wasn't a part of the Church, the first time he met her. Back then she'd been someone who laughed in the face of most authority, except for a few choice people whom she had respect for. She'd run away with him much like any other companion, but unlike most she was the one who chose to leave him. He'd seen her a couple of times since then, but the centuries stretched between now and their last meeting.

From what he's been able to gather, Tasha has revolutionized the Church, and left her permanent mark on its legacy. Her name is known throughout the universe in this time period, something that many people hold awe at. Even the settlers in Christmas gaze up at the sky in shock when he mentions that she's here too, helping to keep them safe. He tells the children of his adventures with her, when he was younger and far more careless.

He tells them other stories as well, of more recent times. About the girl and boy who waited (every time he mentions Rory the girls all sigh, like he's prince charming), about the impossible girl who lived a thousand lives in a thousand different places. Eventually he caves in and confides with them about the woman with the space hair, who turns a lonely man's world upside-down and ends up killing him, then marrying him. He starts building a collection of drawings that the children make, and his heart aches every time they bring him one of _her_.

Whenever they draw one of Tasha, he gives it to her. He sees something he's never seen before flash in her eyes when she takes them— something bordering on sadness, perhaps. She always gives a quiet, "Thank you," and pins them in the oddest of places. Or maybe they only seem odd to him; maybe she finds herself staring at those places often when her thoughts are wandering.

One day little Lucy draws one of him and his bespoke, holding hands. He swallows and manages to choke out a word of thanks. She also gives him a drawing of Tasha Lem, with a little note on the back. He doesn't read it, but he watches very carefully a few months later as Tasha does.

"Lucy's found herself a role model," he says. "Constantly praising you, saying how she hopes to be exactly like you, one day."

Tasha laughs sharply. "I hope not."

The Doctor blinks. "Why not? Children looking up to you, means you're doing something right."

She moves away, conjuring a thumbtack from what seems to be nowhere and marching around the room, inspecting each little nook where she can put it carefully before deciding on one just above the mantle. "Doctor, it's you they look up to. They know you. They don't know me, so they can't look up to me. They only think that they do. I'm flattered, but—"

"That is proper rubbish, Tasha Lem," he scoffs. "Who do you think lets them sleep in their beds at night? Because as well as I do, I'd lose very quickly without you. Maybe you ought to come down and see for yourself."

"Part of the agreement is that I stay put," Tasha warns. "No Doctor, I think it's for the best that I stay here."

"What, so I'm the one who has to sneak out? Where's your sense of adventure? Spice of life, Tash."

They both freeze. He hasn't called her Tash since they travelled together, and it tastes strange in his mouth. She deflates after a moment, watching him from the corner of her eye, like she can't hold herself up in his presence anymore. It's been five years already, but he can't fail to see the circles under her eyes, or the weight lost. Not that he's been doing much better than her lately; though the constant siege hasn't sapped his strength yet, the inability to go anywhere makes his stress levels rise somewhat.

"C'mon," he wheedles, pretending that his slip-up hasn't happened. "Just a quick trip. They'd love to meet you."

"Perhaps another time."

He shrugs and bids her farewell. Before she can beam him back down to Christmas, however, he sticks his head out and says, "By the way, could you get me marshmallows next time? We're planning to make s'mores. And try to get pink ones as well. Margie's very particular about that."

She only rolls her eyes.

* * *

Most days, everybody lives. He catches the monsters before they make it too far into the town (he takes a very vicious pleasure in putting a mirror in front of a Weeping Angel), or he reveals them to the Papal Mainframe before they can even get that far. The first time he hears the accompanying message, he snorts; he doubts very much that Tasha is feeling apologetic towards the intruders. All in all, he thinks that he does a pretty good job of defending Christmas.

Until the day he doesn't.

Two of the more elderly villagers are killed in the crossfire of a Slitheen attack. He feels like he's suffocating at the funeral; not even the brief appearance of the sun does much to raise his spirits. The rest of the villagers all try to stay upbeat and optimistic; they have to, if they're going to live in a place where it's mostly night, but he can tell that it's just as hard for them, if not more. He flees the moment the ceremony ends, fully intent on wallowing in the tower when he remembers that today's another supplies pick-up day. The moment Tasha's chapel materializes around him, she knows something's wrong.

"We weren't able to detect them quickly enough," she says, her voice even quieter than usual. "But the remainder of their delegation is being dealt with. The confessional priests have been ordered— in slightly different terms— to give them hell."

"How do you remember your confessional priests' existence?" he asks her, shoving the melancholy out of his voice.

"Simply having knowledge of their existence is infinitely helpful," Tasha explains. She gives him a shrewd look. "But then I suspect you already know that."

The Doctor decides not to respond. He can tell that his steps are dragging as he makes his way over to the table, checking inside the chest again. She's thrown in a little something that he didn't ask for this time— a few decks of cards, each one for a different game. Tasha's begun leaving things for the children in her deliveries, probably in return for the drawings he keeps giving her. Normally it makes him grin when she does that, but he can't muster a smile this time around.

"We knew this was coming," she says eventually.

Yes, they did. But that doesn't make it any easier. He's just been hoping that the first people who die do so in their beds, smiling, surrounded by family. It was not to be, and he'll probably hate himself for that. Tasha moves closer to him and touches his arm, very lightly, almost making him flinch.

"Would you like to stay for a while?" she invites, as she always does.

This time, however, he accepts.

* * *

They fall into something of a pattern after that day.

He visits more often than just her supply runs, and he always stays for about an hour. He never lets himself stay for longer than that, as a reminder of his duty to Christmas, but it's still significantly longer durations than before. Sometimes they play chess (she certainly knows how to make the game more interesting) or some other board game, sometimes they sit in silence and sip tea, but most of the time they just talk.

It's what they do the first time he agrees to stay. He tells her about his frustrations with not being able to help those that died that day, and she speaks of her fears— that she will fail in her mission, that she will not be able to stop Trenzalore from burning or the Time War from beginning again. He's surprised by how easy it is to reconnect with her, after all this time. The chasm that has yawned between them in the first twenty years of his self-imposed imprisonment is starting to close.

She always looks the same— fierce, strong, practically born to be a leader. He knows that he probably looks the same too, but he can feel something deep within himself— a warning that that's going to change soon. It frightens him a bit, but it also doesn't surprise him. It's Trenzalore, after all; he's known for a while now that he's going to die here.

This time around, she passes him a mug of tea. It's her way of saying that she doesn't want to talk to him today, but that she appreciates the company all the same. He accepts it without a word and gives a grateful nod, but he doesn't take a sip right away. He's too busy noticing that Tasha's eyes are more far away than they have been in a while. This is a look that he recognizes; she got it often enough when she was travelling with him.

Ordinarily, he'd prompt her back into the world with some comment about an adventure and she'd smile brightly, but he's not sure how the venerable Tasha Lem, Mother Superious of the Papal Mainframe, would react to that. He opts for the usual silence; it is a safer route.

It turns out that he isn't the one to break it.

"I ordered the execution of the remaining Sontarans today."

The Doctor finds himself protesting before he can stop himself. "_Execution? _But—"

"Three infringements, Doctor," she says. "Three. That's how many each party gets before the Mainframe destroys them. That was the agreement that was made."

"Maybe I should have been there for it," he spits, feeling a sudden surge of anger.

Her glare stops him cold. "I have never been as kind, or forgiving, as you are. I can't afford to make exceptions just because you demand it. I can't even afford to feel guilty about it. You tried, Doctor— for so many years you tried to make me _feel _something for the people that I killed. We both know that you never succeeded."

He moves without thinking, sliding from his chair to kneel in front of her, grasping her hands in his. This is Tasha Lem at war. Tasha Lem at peacetime mocks, and laughs, and flirts like there's no tomorrow. Tasha Lem at war says little and appears to do even less, though he knows that she's worked harder than anyone else, including himself. She doesn't sleep enough and she burdens herself with more worries than are healthy for her. She tries to know everything, and after a time it becomes a curse.

"You're feeling something _now," _he insists, "or else you wouldn't be bothered by it."

"One day we are going to lose, Doctor," she whispers. Her voice shakes. "One day the Daleks, or the Cybermen, are going to come here and they'll kill everyone."

"That will never happen." Even as he says it, he knows it's a lie. "If they attack you have to _tell_ me, Tasha. I'll come and help you, I promise."

She smiles at him wanly. "You have enough on your plate protecting Christmas. The confessional priests aren't trained fighters but they'll do well enough for the next few hundred years, I daresay. I'm condemning my followers to death by forcing them to stay, though."

A large number of lives or the universe. He's lived for centuries believing he made that decision, and now it turns out that he hasn't. But Tasha has. Sure, she could change her mind at any time, but he knows that she won't. She's far too stubborn, and he hasn't actively tried to change it for her. He knows that he doesn't have any other options. He has a grave waiting for him here, after all.

He can't really say anything in response, but he tightens his grip. She looks down at him with a mixture of contempt and pity in her old eyes— and for a moment the age of them stuns him. He stumbles away from her back to his seat, picking up his tea cup with shaking hands. It's lukewarm now, but he takes a hasty sip anyway, desperate for an excuse not to talk. He avoids Tasha's gaze like the plague because it's just… how does she _know?_

"I remind you of someone," she says eventually. "But then I guess we all do small things that remind you of the others, don't we? You remind me of someone too, you know."

That forces him to make eye contact with her. He's puzzled, because he cannot for the life of him imagine who she is talking about. He likes to think that he's a very unique person, but apparently not. She's twisting her hands in her lap, which means that she's uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is going in, but she's making a leap of faith.

"Well," he says, his tone considerably lighter. "I hope I'm much more charming than he is."

"I never said it was a he," Tasha replies. "And no, you aren't."

Now he's really intrigued. "Have I ever met her?"

"Probably. You seem to have met everyone of historical significance."

"Almost everyone," he corrects her. "Never met Abraham Lincoln. That seems like an obvious one, doesn't it? But I guess it just… slipped my mind. I'm getting old, it was bound to happen eventually."

They carry on this conversation all through his visit, breaking their tea drinking taboo. He manages to succeed in making Tasha laugh, though, so he counts it as a victory and adds it to his pile of good things.

* * *

On the hundredth anniversary of his arrival on Trenzalore, he asks Tasha a question that he asks everyone— well, not exactly the same question, but one that's very similar.

"If I had my TARDIS, and I asked you to come with me— just for a quick trip, it'd only be five minutes for everyone here— would you have said yes?"

She looks at him for a very long time. She's taking a break today; instead of being done up in a tight bun, her hair is cascading sleekly down her back, and for once her face is scrubbed clean of makeup. It makes her look both younger and older than she did before. It's also the first time he's seen her in trousers.

She looks tired.

Eventually, she says, "You don't have your TARDIS."

"Yes, but if I did?"

"You don't, so what does it matter?"

He breathes out in frustration. "I'd just… like to know, okay?"

"Then the answer's no."

The Doctor pouts. "Why not? We could go to the Constellation of Rho-Nine. They make excellent snow cones. Or— you always liked to meet interesting people, right? You'd probably like Bast the Twelfth, the Empress of the Halvian Galaxy, where they were obsessed with the ancient Egyptian cat goddess. Quite fierce, but a good leader. Bit like you, really. Scratch the probably, you'd definitely like her."

"You know why not." Tasha's brought out some surprisingly comfortable armchairs today. She draws her knees to her chest, curling up in one and looking surprisingly content. "She does sound fascinating, I'll give you that. My favorite visit to Earth was always the one where you introduced me to Genghis Khan. We certainly hit it off."

He scowls, remembering that particular visit. He'd had a nasty confrontation with an odd breed of alien, flesh-eating slug, which Tasha ended up rescuing him from. It never escaped his notice that she always seemed the most comfortable in war-related settings, and he realizes that that's no longer the case. He thinks that that's a good thing; he just hopes that the war the two of them are fighting now doesn't revert her back to her old ways.

"You've never asked me about my more recent travels," he mentions.

She tilts her head towards him, looking curious. "I never thought I had the right. Do you want me to?"

He isn't sure how he wants to answer that question. Telling children is easy, because children understand. Children know that there is heartbreak in the best of stories, and they don't ask you to talk about it. Adults, on the other hand, like to push until they know more than they should.

The Doctor flops down on the floor, grabbing the cushion from his own chair and putting it beneath his head. He pats the ground beside him, giving Tasha an imploring look.

"It doesn't exactly look comfortable," she observes.

"And you look like a cat. I wasn't gonna mention it."

She laughs. "I'm sure the people of the Halvian Galaxy would consider that a compliment. I'll live."

In the end she does lay down next to him while they play an inane game of 'I Spy'. He realizes that this is their life now— near constant fighting, working seamlessly together to keep the peace. It's a nobler ending than he had expected, because at least this way he's _protecting_ people, not just fighting needlessly. Then they get these moments. Lulls in the tide of war where they could be celebrating with their respective peoples, but instead choose to spend it with the one other person that they feel understands.

In the end they fall silent. He isn't exactly happy, but he does feel content spread through him, weighing down his limbs until he doesn't want to get up and fight the war again. The Doctor's never seen Tasha look so relaxed either, for once not wound up like clockwork so that she can get through the day.

Their hands are next to each other the entire time, never quite touching.

* * *

_"The fate of all is always dust."_

They aren't her words, but it's her voice that he hears speaking them and it jolts him awake. He never meant to fall asleep, but it's happened anyway and, at the very least, he's gotten some much needed rest. The last thing he wants, however, is a reminder of his impending death, least of all one spoken by his late wife. He closes his eyes again, trying to imagine that she is there with him and that they are growing old together in this quaint little town. If he pictures it enough, he thinks he can feel her arms around him, lips pressing against his own as they normally would after he woke up from sleep.

The illusion is shattered the moment he hears another shout from below, indicating that something else has come to plague the town. He runs out to find yet another Cyberman (they're the most persistent of the lot) ambling its way through the streets, causing an uproar. There's always someone on watch, so Christmas isn't unprepared for it.

Cybermen are easy enough for him to stop with his screwdriver; they keep trying to upgrade themselves and then sending in the upgraded units, but so far their technology doesn't match anything sonic. He doesn't know how long that will last, however, and he's not confident that it will always be that easy. Still, he puts on a brave face for all the children, who laugh with him later than night when they are gathered around him.

"Tell us the one about the whale!" Jonathan begs.

A loud chorus of "please" rises up from the crowd, to which he smiles. He loves these people, and their unending faith and optimism in spite of the world they live in. It warms his hearts to see that he does have the power to save one little town; his dying days have enabled him to do this much. He thinks about how much his life has turned around in spite of all the heartbreak: Gallifrey stands, Clara's probably living a happy life somewhere, his Ponds were together in the end, and here he is, still doing some good in the world. It's everything he could ask for.

"Once, there was a girl called Amelia Pond—"

"We _know _that bit," huffs Harriet. "Tell us the good part!"

"Oi! Rude, Harriet!" he exclaims. "What's the point of the good part if there's not a boring part before it?"

"_You _like the good part better than the boring part, too," she challenges.

"Alright — maybe." He grins. "So Amy and the Raggedy Man fell down, down the hole until they landed in something that was warm, sticky, and smelled worse than an outhouse." All the kids scrunch up their noses and get delighted expressions on their faces— they know what's coming next. "And the Raggedy Man realized that they had landed on a giant tongue."

There are several gasps, followed by giggling; they can never resist dramatizing it for him.

"And then what happened, Doctor?"

He feels himself tense a bit, and this time the gasps from the children aren't feigned. He turns to see Tasha settle herself a few feet away from him, arranging her skirt carefully. She's dressed in her usual attire today, but part of her seems more open than is normal. She is completely unfazed by the curious gazes of the kids, nothing but a teasing sort of smile on her face.

He finishes the story, telling them all about how brave Amy was and how she saved the day. In his stories his companions are the real heroes, more often than not. Every single girl has a crush on the Last Centurion and they all adore Amy, of course. A few of the girls proclaim that they want to be just like River Song one day.

And some… some look up to Tasha Lem.

"Doctor?" calls Jonathan. He braces himself for another request. "Is that… her?"

They all start whispering to each other, gazes burning forcefully into Tasha. He wonders why she decided to come down here; she always resists when he tries to get her to visit. Something has changed her mind.

He grins suddenly. This is his chance to show Tasha just what people think of her. "Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "allow me to have the honor of introducing Tasha Lem, the Mother Superious of the Papal Mainframe."

"I _knew _it!" exclaims Harriet. "She's prettier than you said though, Doctor."

Tasha smiles. "Thank you."

"I said she was plenty pretty," he mutters.

"Yeah, but she's _really _pretty."

"Is it true what the Doctor says?" asks another boy— Charlie. "That you protect all of us?"

He senses more than sees Tasha's hesitation. _Now is not the time for self doubt, Tash. _

"If you mean that I help the Doctor protect you, then yes," she answers.

"The Doctor says that you also put up a great big force field to protect us," someone else calls.

"Well, yes—"

"You're the leader of the _Church_. That's so cool!"

The Doctor can't resist being smug when she shoots him a helpless look, ignoring that it turns into a glare when he makes no move to protest anything that the children are saying. If she doesn't already believe that she deserves the adoration she's getting, then maybe they will be able to convince her better than he can. She's a good person, and he wants her to be able to come to terms with that. He's slowly learning to forgive himself. It's only right that Tasha should get to do the same.

"Doctor?" It's Harriet, moving closer to him so that she can still be heard over the clamor. "She is very pretty, but wouldn't River get jealous?"

The words crash into him like a tidal wave.

He doesn't miss the way that Tasha's head snaps around to look at him; she's heard exactly what Harriet said. His throat suddenly feels dry, because he honestly doesn't know how to answer that question. He thinks that River probably would be jealous— except that River's _gone_ now and the older versions of her were very practiced at not being jealous towards other women in close proximity to him anyway. Well, she was towards the ones who openly came onto him, but apart from their initial meeting Tasha has made no attempt to do so. He suspects that she would not have done even that, if she had known they'd been spending such an extensive amount of time together.

He meets Tasha's eyes by accident and is surprised to find something akin to triumph there. Harriet, seeing that no response is forthcoming, gives up and returns to badgering Tasha with questions like the others are doing. The Doctor sits as though he has turned into a statue, caught up in the whirlwind of his thoughts. He remembers the end of his dream from that morning and shudders a bit.

He escorts Tasha around the town after the children finally stop interrogating her. She looks happier than she has looked in a while; she loops her arm through his while he gives her the tour. He doesn't know how she isn't freezing from the weather. She must impervious to the cold. Or maybe she doesn't approve of temperature sensitivities, just like she doesn't approve of aging.

"And the tower," she finishes for him as they come to a stop. "Where the crack is."

"Yes."

There is an uncomfortable lull in the conversation following that. Neither of them are sure where to go from there.

"I want you to know," she says eventually, "that what I found out will never be passed on to anyone. And that I came to a decision today."

He looks at her. "And what is that?"

She releases his arm and turns to face him directly. "My feelings for you have changed," she states plainly. "Proximity does that to a person, I've seen it before. But I refuse to act on them. I refuse to dishonor my best friend's memory that way."

He thinks that for a moment he stops breathing. "You—"

Tasha fails to smile. "River and I were closer than most. Evidently not as close as you two, but she was one of the few good friends I had throughout my life. She was the one who— well, I would never have gotten as far as I have without her."

"She's dead," he says hoarsely.

"I know. The news was… not easy for me to hear."

Of course they were friends, _of course _they were. It shouldn't surprise him so much to know that. There are things that make sense now: that she reminds him so much of River. That she sometimes looks sad when _she_ looks at _him_, as though she is remembering someone long gone, too. Her mention of that someone, how that someone was a woman, not a man. He feels like he should've seen it before, and berates himself for not.

"I'm sorry," he manages to choke out.

Tasha snorts. "You've no need to apologize to me, Doctor. My grief probably doesn't compare to yours."

"That's not true," he insists. He knows how it is when you lose a friend, and it can hurt just as much as losing… well. His thoughts flash to Donna, to Amy, to Rory. Friends are not the same as a lover, or a wife, but they provide a different kind comfort altogether. They never pressured him, but they knew when it was time to knock him on his arse and bring him down a level. He thinks of Clara with a pang, but he did the right thing. He knows that.

"I think you're lying," Tasha says.

"Well then, you'd be wrong, Tasha Lem."

On impulse, he leans down and presses his lips against hers. It's dry, chaste, and about as far from a declaration of love as either of them could get. Neither of them make any move to deepen it, or indeed to touch each other as it happens. Even as he pulls away to gauge her reaction, he thinks that they are both praying to River to forgive them.

He's trying to convey a message to Tasha without putting it into words. Even he's not sure what that message is, exactly, but when he manages to look Tasha in the eye again after pulling away, she's watching him with a mixture of exasperation and sympathy in her gaze.

"Exactly," she says.

* * *

He can only describe their behavior around each other as 'tiptoeing' after that. Their discussions somehow always turn into reminiscing about River: he talks about his wedding, the adventures he and his wife had with the Ponds, and how much of a fool he was in his early days. Tasha explains that she met River not long after she left him. She also describes journeying with River for about a year, and how River would often visit after she became the Mother Superious. Throughout it all they'll sometimes touch each other fleetingly— a hand on an arm, brushing shoulders. They even manage hand holding a couple of times. It's always experimental, though, never lasting very long.

He's pretty sure they're just lonely and craving human contact.

They reach their two hundred year anniversary relatively unscathed. He finds himself thinking about how not one of the villagers he knew when he first arrived are alive today— how many he's had to bury while he lives on. He's getting older; it's just a bit harder to move the way he used to, and he drifts off more easily than before. He sleeps even less, though (which he didn't think was possible). Wrinkles haven't made their appearance yet, but he thinks they will soon.

Tasha, of course, looks exactly the same.

She breaks into her alcohol supply for the occasion, only having to raise an eyebrow when he protests not having any. Okay, so maybe he'll spit it out as soon as he drinks it, but wouldn't it be polite to at least give him a glass? She ignores him as she sips her own cocktail, swirling it absently.

"So!" he exclaims, twirling around. She's had the dining table put back in the room, which is a shame; he'd liked the comfy chairs. "What shall we do today, Mother Superious?"

"Haven't a clue."

Her flippant response isn't one that he expects. He does a double-take, looking at her more closely. Tasha is paler than usual, and her whole body seems slumped over. He wonders if she's ill somehow and that she is bad-tempered because of it, but upon further examination he realizes that she's just exhausted.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "I was up three nights in a row. We had to fend off a Weeping Angel attack, and it never seemed to end."

"You ought to be sleeping, then," he replies, eyeing the glass she held more warily now. "Not forcing yourself to stay awake."

"I'm not sure I can."

The Doctor thinks to himself for a moment, wondering how he can fix this. Tasha will be no good to anyone in her current state, and sleep really is the best remedy. He walks over and tugs her to her feet, asking her where her bedroom is. Ordinarily she probably would have looked surprised at his question, but she must be too tired to care. It's surprisingly plain for someone of her station, but she's already told him that she only accepts most of the opulence because it's expected of her. He helps her into it, and after a moment of hesitation climbs in beside her.

"What are you doing?" she mumbles into her pillow.

"Cuddling," he answers. He won't sleep, but he'll give her this. "Nothing like a good cuddle."

She makes a muffled sound, something like "mrphmf" before she relaxes into his embrace, her breathing already evening out. He gently works the pin out of her hair, allowing it to unwind from its coils and absently straightening it with his fingers. It's something methodical for him to do and it doesn't wake her. He finds himself thinking of hair very different from hers. Sure, Tasha's is longer than belief, but it doesn't quite fit into the category of magic space hair.

The Doctor releases a shuddering sigh. He doesn't want to die, but he can't help but think just the tiniest bit longingly of when it will be over for them. Tasha might not be aging, but it's killing her just as surely as it's killing him. She's always had to propel herself beyond the limits of what other humans can reach; it's part of what makes her so unapproachable. If the arm he's thrown around her tightens slightly at this thought, then… it's definitely his arm's fault.

And if he kisses her (properly this time) when she wakes up… then he has no one else to blame.

* * *

She doesn't think she would call it love. Or if it is love, then it's not the kind of absolute, unending love that she suspects the Doctor had with River. Had. Has. They're time travelers, she's not sure what the proper tense is.

Tasha isn't exactly young. Being against aging means outliving those around you, makes you a bit less than human. She has no illusions about where the Doctor's hearts lie. She doesn't want them to lie with her, anyway; she's pretty sure she would destroy one of them, eventually. But he still continually assures her that she is enough, for him. She is someone familiar, someone he can hold onto while he slowly loses his grip on the world.

It's possibly their most stressful century yet, but she's not unhappy. She likes to think that he isn't, either.

She notices that his attitude towards her changes yet again after the day he forced her to get some sleep. He calls her 'Tash' more often than not. He's bolder with his touches, makes eye contact with her more, even flirts a little. She allows herself to flirt back, but she never pushes. Kissing is rare, but it happens. She refuses to be the one who instigates it, and every so often she finds herself thinking of her friend and wonders of River would hate her for this.

Tasha leaves from addressing her troops for what seems like the millionth time, groaning slightly when she slides into a chair. They are just a few days after the third century; she has to wonder just how long this going to continue. Perhaps meditation is in order; it is one of the few things that she keeps to herself.

Without warning, however, the alarms start blaring. At the same time, the communicator crackles to life on her wrist.

"Mother Superious!" She recognizes the voice of one of her priests. "We are under attack!"

"By who this time?" she asks sharply.

The man lets out a strangled cry. A woman's voice takes over. Her solemn tone tells Tasha everything she needs to hear.

"The Daleks have finally lost patience with us."

She closes her eyes. It's over (finally).

Except then the Daleks come for her, and it isn't. It's only the beginning.

* * *

You are Tasha Lem, and pain has never made you bow before.

_"Doctor? Who is the Doctor?"_

_ No one._

_ "Kill her again."_

You are Tasha Lem, and they cannot make you break. Your responsibility is too great. You are the Mother Superious, the leader of so many, the one charged with keeping the universe safe.

_"How many times, Tasha Lem?"_

_ Go to hell._

They have killed you… five times? Ten? You've lost count. You're starting to lose hold of sentient thought, your brain registering only pain. Doctor? Doctor who?

_"This one will be converted after harvesting the information, like the others."_

No. No. You're dead. You should be allowed to stay dead. They cannot do this, they _will not_ do this. You want to scream as the nanotech starts to worm its way through your skin, into your marrow, tearing you apart from the inside and rebuilding you into your worst nightmare.

Yourself. The way you've always feared you would be.

* * *

He isn't sure if Clara's return is a miracle or a curse. She looks beautiful, a woman with the whole world ahead of her, and he has to admit that he's glad to see her this way. He has to say goodbye to Handles, his other constant companion, but it's worth it to see Clara again. Her smile is joyous, even tinged with sadness, and one of the few things untainted by the war he's been fighting.

They're summoned by Tasha which is a bit unusual; mostly he just visits her whenever the urge grabs him, and there's no pick up due today. Even more rarely she travels down to the planet to see him. He thinks that she secretly likes the company of the children, who always fawn over her.

Everything is fine. They talk about Kovarian, with her informing him on things he's suspected but never confirmed. He mentions River and they share a smile about that, because she knows exactly what he's talking about. As Tasha once said, she would never have made it that far without River Song either.

Then she says that she's died, and it's like his heart drops out of his feet.

In the end, though, he gets his victory. He gets her back and urges her to keep winning because he knows that she can. But he takes a look at Barnable, still waiting for him, watches her tired face as she bids him farewell (clearly expecting to carry on the defense of Trenzalore on her own) and he realizes that he can't leave. No matter how much he wants to escape with Clara and return to his life from before.

He bids farewell to Clara for a second time, knowing that this time her anger is guaranteed. Then again, he's never told her Rule One.

When he steps out of the TARDIS after taking it back to Christmas, the first thing he sees is Tasha Lem and Barnable, standing side-by-side. Neither one of them looks surprised. The three of them are surrounded by chaos as the Daleks start to descend on the planet, but he notices something else then— huge, bulbous heads that for the first time make him grin.

"Silence versus Daleks?" he asks Tasha.

"Seems the Daleks conveniently forgot about a lot of them," she answers. "The Kovarian sect might have given you a grudge, but do you think you can hold off on that grudge for another half a century?"

He all but leaps forward. He gets the sense that he's on the home stretch now.

"Barnable, get somewhere safe," he commands. He grabs her hand. "And Tasha Lem… Mother Superious… what are we waiting for?"

* * *

She's not the one he needs.

The long battle with the Daleks is finally, finally drawing to a close, dwindling to its last stages. She and the Doctor have fought and fought and fought, and they have saved this small town. More often than not the two of them are back-to-back, he waving his sonic screwdriver about wildly (really, what was _that_ supposed to do?) while she relentlessly blasts Daleks and the occasional Cybermen. There are bad nights, when her own Dalek tries to force control and it is only his words that are able to bring her back to herself.

Now that she knows the full story of River Song, she finds it somewhat ironic: River had been based off of her, and she had been inspired by River. The Doctor does not seem surprised when she explains this to him.

The Doctor is dying, though, and he does not need the company of someone already dead. He needs life, to reassure himself that he did something right in his very, very long lifetime. He doesn't seem to recognize her anymore, anyway, and a part of her can't deal with it, selfish as that is. Tasha pilots the TARDIS with relative ease, using the time machine's last coordinates in order to find the woman, Clara.

(It's very, very tempting for her to find a past version of River for him to see. Not only because River would know exactly what to say and do, but also because it would mean seeing her friend again. But there's no guarantee that she would get a version of River who knows who she is, which would cause a massive paradox. She's just spent the past three hundred and seventy four years preventing the end of the universe, she's not about to let it be destroyed by a paradox.)

"He shouldn't die alone," is what she says. She can see that Clara wants to ask her more, but she moves away before Clara is able to. They both have jobs to do.

Then maybe— just maybe— she can finally rest.

* * *

_"They must have been wonderful people," Tasha observes, looking around at all of the drawings. She's a permanent resident on Trenzalore now, she might as well get used to her surroundings. "The people you travel with always are. They never really leave you, do they?"_

_ He looks at her, surprised. "No, I suppose they don't." _

_ Tasha breathes in, allowing the frigid air to rush into her lungs. It's invigorating after the stale atmosphere of the mothership— ambrosia to her respiratory system. She likes it here. It's not home (she's never really had one of those), but she could learn to love it, given time. They aren't going to be able to get supplies anymore, she realizes, but they'll just have to manage. _

_ The Doctor tugs her into him gently; he's growing older now, looking more middle-aged than anything else. Even so, he doesn't seem to need his cane for support as he holds her. She wonders what brought this on. It's almost as though he doesn't want to let her go again. It's nice, she decides. To be wanted like this. _

_ "Thank you, Tash," he says softly. "I don't think I've ever said it, so I'm saying it now. Thank you for being here, all these years. For helping a lonely old man."_

_ "I didn't do it for you," she mutters into his collar, echoing her earlier words. _

_ He chuckles. "I know. Tasha Lem, the woman who saved the universe. They're never going to forget you."_

_ "You helped me, too."_

_ "Yeah, a bit, but you didn't need it."_

_ Tasha closes her eyes. In an hour, maybe less, they will need to go back out there and fight on, continuing to hold back the Daleks. They will need to be the Doctor and the Mother Superious, warriors trying to save the universe. They will need to put on a brave face in order to protect Christmas, even though they are both so, so tired._

_ But right now, this moment— she will let herself have this. _


End file.
